


Like A Stone Into A Pond

by toffeecape



Series: Bird Rock Lambchop (Bird Bigger Bird) [4]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Aromantic, Asexual Character, Atem is from ancient Egypt, Atem is tiny, Bechdel Test Pass, Bisexual Female Character, Blindshipping, Body Modification, Domestic Fluff, Ensemble Cast, Eyeliner, F/F, Father-Daughter Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Original Character(s), Mokuba gets jacked, Mother-Son Relationship, Muscles, Nipple Piercings, No Incest, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Other, Overhearing Sex, Platonic Relationships, Puzzleshipping, Seto Kaiba is a piping hot mess, Siblings, Single Parents, Swolebros, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved, Trans Female Character, Vaccinate your goddamn kids, dom!Yugi, top!yugi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 09:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toffeecape/pseuds/toffeecape
Summary: Atem's being alive touches the lives of the people around him, in ways big and small.





	1. Michiko

“That’s it for the discussion questions,” declares Kikyo. “I think the consensus is we liked Natsuo Kirino’s _Out,_ yes?” The four other women around the table nod their heads.

“It kicked ass,” says Reichiru enthusiastically.

“Careful, Reichiru,” laughs Chikage. “You don’t want to bring the police sniffing around if someone turns up dismembered!”

“My _point_ is,” says Kikyo, “it was a good find on Michiko’s part, so we cover her tab tonight.”

Michiko Mutou smiles, serene in victory. She’d figured the novel would be a hit with a bunch of nocturnal hospital staff.

As per tradition, their ‘book club’ meeting degenerates into shooting the shit, consuming a steady stream of snacks and drinks brought out to them as the only customers in the twenty-four hour diner.

Into a lull in the conversation, Tatsu says, “Hey Michiko, who’s the boy my Botan’s seen walking your Yugi to and from school this week?”

“Oh,” Michiko says lightly, “that’s his friend, Atem. He’s a good boy.” She has half a mind to throw them being boyfriends in Tatsu’s face, but Domino High still has the same ridiculous no-dating policy it had when she went there. If Atem and Yugi can keep their hands off each other in public, she can keep from needling one nosy pharmacist.

Tatsu narrows her eyes. “Botan says they leave right from your house.”

Michiko says patiently, “That’s because he lives with us now, Tatsu.”

“Isn’t that a little weird?”

“What’s weird about helping a young person in need?” Reichiru demands, staring Tatsu down like she would a belligerent patient while on duty as a security guard. Tatsu backs off with a sheepish mutter, and the conversation moves on.

The club disperses about half an hour later, until the only ones left in the diner are Reichiru and Michiko. Reichiru turns to her and says, “But it _is_ kind of weird, right?”

Michiko glances around them to be sure they’re alone, and slams her hand on the table loud enough to rattle the flatware. _“So_ fucking weird!”

* * *

_-Earlier-_

Dad and Yugi get back from Egypt just after midday. They try to be quiet, knowing Michiko’s asleep, but their hushed voices and the unavoidable thumps of luggage are still enough to wake her up. She throws on a bathrobe and goes to greet them. In the living room, she spies a familiar head of spiky hair and throws her arms around her son’s shoulders from behind.

“Welcome home, kiddo!” she says, then notices the shoulders she’s hugging have gone entirely rigid. “Yugi?”

“Mom, uh…” Yugi says - from across the room. She recoils from the person she was hugging, who whirls to stare at her: a boy exactly Yugi’s height, with nearly exactly Yugi’s hairstyle, but with deep brown skin and a different face. His eyes, too, remind her of Yugi’s, except the purple has a red tinge… and Yugi has never looked at her with such naked desperation.

This last is enough to stop her from yelling when she asks, “What’s going on? Who are you?”

The boy blinks, and his expression resolves into mere nervous politeness. He clears his throat and says, in a startlingly deep voice, “Hello. You must be Ms. Mutou. My name is Atem. I am -” here he seems to get stuck, and turns to look at Yugi. There’s a yearning in his gaze that causes a low thumping noise to start in Michiko’s head. “I am, uh…”

Yugi comes to stand beside Atem, clasping his hand tightly in his own. The thumping noise gets louder. Her baby boy stands up straight, looks Michiko right in the eye, and says evenly, “Atem is my boyfriend. He’s going to be staying with me now.”

The thumping becomes a roar. Michiko can barely hear herself say, in her best charge nurse voice, “Well. Why don’t we go sit down, and you can tell me a little more about this?”

Yugi and Dad both wince. Atem notes Yugi’s reaction and swallows.

She takes the chair, and Yugi and Dad take the couch, with Atem between them. Still on assessment autopilot, she asks, “How old are you, Atem?”

He hesitates oddly before saying, “Eighteen.”

“Just like Yugi. How long have you known each other?”

Yugi and Atem look at each other. “Two years,” Yugi says.

“Two years.” She lets that hang there for a moment, watching all three men squirm. “And you didn’t bring him around like your other school friends because?”

“I’m not from school. I haven’t been a- _lived_ in Domino before,” Atem says desperately. “We met through Duel Monsters.”

“The card game? The one you go to tournaments for?” Yugi nods.

“Atem’s really good,” he says eagerly, “he helped me a lot.”

“Not as much as you helped me, partner,” Atem protests in an undertone. Yugi shoots him a look of fond reproach. Michiko’s not hearing strange noises anymore, but her stomach swoops.

Dad puts in, “They haven’t just improved each other’s duelling. Atem’s helped Yugi out of many a tight spot.”

Now her focus is on Dad. He looks like he regrets saying anything. “What _kind_ of tight spots?” It’s a _card game._

Atem says, “At the highest levels - and Yugi is too much of a genius to gravitate anywhere else -”

 _“Atem-”_ Red spots are burning on Yugi’s cheeks.

“-Duel Monsters tournaments attract a certain number of… strange people. Like any form of  competition, really.”

“Yeah,” Yugi says faintly, “like any competition.”

“It’s important to know who you can count on. That’s all.”

“That’s _not_ all,” says Yugi. “What Atem said about weird people - he just got out of a weird situation himself.”

“Weird how?” Michiko grips the armrests of the chair. “Are you in danger? Are you in the country legally?”

“No to the former; yes to the latter,” Atem answers quickly. “My parents are- were Egyptian, but I am a Japanese citizen.” He certainly speaks fluently, without the least trace of an accent.

“I know we’re being vague, Mom, but we can’t tell you any more than that. We just can’t. The bottom line is Atem needs a place to stay, and I want it to be with me.” He looks at her - her sweet, goofy boy - and while there’s a plea in his eyes, there’s steel in his spine. It hasn’t escaped Michiko’s notice that he hasn’t actually _asked_ for anything; this isn’t a negotiation. “It will be with me. I’d like it to be with _us.”_ There it is, as much request as she’s going to get: the unspoken _but it doesn’t have to be._

Michiko spares a moment to wish fervently that this weren’t all happening at her equivalent of 2 AM. “Dad? Can I talk to you in private?”

In the kitchen, she hisses, “Tell me the truth. Is there any risk of dangerous people coming after him?”

Dad shakes his head. “Not from his past, no. It wasn’t that kind of weird situation. He’s - very alone, now.”

She peeks out into the living room. They are turned toward each other, Atem resting his forehead on Yugi’s shoulder, and Yugi with his hand on the back of Atem’s neck. She realizes she recognizes the collar Atem is wearing. It’s not just the same kind Yugi likes; she would bet money it’s literally one of Yugi’s.

She swallows hard against a sudden lump in her throat. “Yugi’s… me, in this. Isn’t he. If I try to stop him, I will lose him.”

Dad blinks in shock. Fair enough; this is a subject he has scrupulously avoided broaching for nineteen years.

At last he answers, “Yes, I think so. Probably. But, Michiko, Atem isn’t… him.”

She flinches.

“They may be young, but that boy is - he’s an old soul. His loyalty is a serious thing. You don’t need to be afraid of Yugi getting hurt the way you were. There’s no reason to repeat my mistakes.” Her Dad looks very small and old, standing there. She is overcome by the urge to hug him. He starts in surprise but hugs her back, just as hard as when he was the biggest man in the whole world to her.

After a long minute, she separates with a sniff, wiping her eyes. “There’s just one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“His hair. Dad, tell me he isn’t dyeing and styling it to match Yugi’s.” That would just be creepy.

“As far as I can tell, it just grows that way, the same as Yugi’s.”

She winces. “That’s actually creepier overall, but at least it’s not a creepy thing he’s _doing.”_ She takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and walks back into the living room.

“I have no objection to Atem staying,” she announces. She opens her mouth to continue, but her son has tackled her in another hug. Everyone is hugging tonight. Today. Whatever.

“Thanks, Mom!”  

Atem is staring at her, mouth slightly open. Yugi sits back down beside him and clutches his hand again, this time in excitement.

“I don’t like that no one will share the details of how this all came about, but I will respect your privacy, Atem.”

“Thank you, Ms. Mutou,” he says, looking dazed. She sympathizes.

Michiko straightens her bathrobe. “And now, I need to go back to bed. I have work tonight.” She returns to her pitch-black room and turns her white-noise machine up higher, and wonders if this whole encounter will turn out to have been a bizarre dream.

She thinks of the way Yugi closed his eyes as he cradled Atem’s head against his shoulder. Maybe she hopes it isn’t a dream after all.

* * *

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Reichiru is silent for a moment as she takes a drink. “At least you can trust they won’t lie to you? Nobody would try to depend on such a sketchy story if they thought they could get away with a boring lie instead.”

“That’s _barely_ better. And how much weirdness are they sitting on, that they know a lie wouldn’t stick?”

“It sounds like the boys are sitting on something _else_ if you know what I-”

“Reichiru!”

She snickers, “Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist.” Michiko glares at her until she offers up an olive branch. “Or. They just don’t _want_ to lie to you.”

Michiko shakes her head slowly. “Maybe, but they’re definitely also glossing over _so much._ You know, Atem isn’t going to school with Yugi? He’s studying for the Daiken instead. Says he doesn’t have any valid transcripts.”

“Whaaat? He’s never been to school?”

“That’s what I said. And then he said he _had_ been, but that it wouldn’t be recognized.”

 _“What_ the _fuck._ Does that make you think what it makes me think?”

“I think he was in a cult,” says Michiko.

* * *

Michiko steps out of the holding cell and sighs as the lock re-engages behind her. Reichiru looks at her sympathetically as she gets up, offering Michiko the desk for charting.

“How is Mr. Yoichi?”

“The Ativan is helping, and his feet should start to hurt less now that I’m pretty sure I got all the glass out, but he’s still in a bad way. Hopefully the psych resident gets her ass in gear and we can do a little more for him soon.” She charts a more professional version of the same, then leans back in her chair and rubs her eyes.

“And how are you?”

“Oh, you know. Not bad for a full moon, really.”

“Anything new with your boys?”

Michiko stiffens with indignation as she remembers anew. “Atem had never been _vaccinated!”_

“Ever?”

“Ever! He was walking around as immunologically naive as a newborn baby!” She shudders.

“‘Was’?”

“He didn’t hesitate to go get the full set of shots once I found out.” According to Dad, there was plenty of droopy man-cold moping the day after, but Yugi had seemed happy enough to let Atem cling to him (“like a baby monkey,” Dad had chortled). There was already a followup appointment marked on the calendar.

“No resistance at all?”

“None. I didn’t get so much as a whiff of anti-vax bullshit from him; it was more like he really didn’t know it was a thing.”

“Huh. I can’t decide if that’s a point for or against the cult theory.”

“Yeah. But if it’s against, what the hell _does_ it mean?”

“If it’s for, are you worried about… I dunno, reprisals?”

“Dad swore up and down I don’t need to be, but at this point I wouldn’t care if there were. If anything I’d like to give those irresponsible fucks a piece of my mind.”

“Watch out, Mama Mutou on the warpath!”

She chuckles. “On the warpath back to my unit, maybe. I’ll see you at book club tomorrow night?”

“And dragon boat practice tomorrow afternoon. Coach is moving back out to the waterfront this week, right?”

“Right. You know if you came to dryland over the winter you’d get a better position in the boat.”

Reichiru flexes. It _is_ pretty impressive. “I just coast on my guns.”  

Michiko scoffs and retreats before Reichiru can notice her blush.

* * *

Atem is that rare creature: a true morning person. He’s almost always up by the time Michiko gets home from work, and likes to fill the quiet dawn hours with experiments in cooking breakfast.

One morning she comes home to a sweet, eggy smell that has even lured Yugi out of bed.

“Hi Mom!” Yugi peels himself away from Atem’s side to greet her.

“Good morning, Ms. Mutou. How was work?” Judging by Atem’s blush, Yugi was in contact with a lot more than his side before hearing Michiko at the door.

“Nurses don’t usually say ‘quiet’, but since the shift is over I think I can get away with calling it that. I actually got away on time for once.” She wanders over to the stove. “What are you making?”

“French toast. Supposedly it’s a good use for stale bread.” Atem flips the egg-soaked slices over in the pan, revealing enticing golden undersides flecked with cinnamon. “And we always have lots of stale bread.”

“Even freezing most of what you two bake?” Her son, who once could barely be bothered to fry an egg, now regularly bakes bread from scratch. She can’t say Atem hasn’t been a good influence.

“We just don’t go through it very fast.” Yugi explains. He looks at Atem. “We wouldn’t have this problem if we made hamburger buns.”

“Beef is expensive.”

“I didn’t give away _all_ my prize money.”

“That’s for college!”

The boys bicker amiably as they plate up the French toast. It’s hot and moist and eggy; Michiko covers hers in kuromitsu syrup. Even though she will still stagger off to bed immediately after, this definitely beats scrounging leftovers from the fridge and eating them standing up alone.

She’s glad she gently bullied Yugi into making his room darker at night, so that Atem could get to sleep earlier. He’d been looking a little peaky for a while there, between being constitutionally incapable of sleeping past sunrise and sharing a bedroom with an inveterate gamer, _as_ an inveterate gamer.

Her cult theory is starting to show more holes. Atem’s knowledge of pop culture seems about on par with Yugi’s, and if anything his obsession with games _exceeds_ Yugi’s; both of these would have been hard to cultivate in an insular environment. And aside from his initial nervousness on meeting her and some awkwardness during his first days here, Atem has never seemed the least bit fearful, passive, or servile. Even when he’s technically serving, like now, he does it with confidence and pride.

He’s a puzzle, for sure. But she’s not worried about him, nor for him, so she’s going to let it go.  

* * *

The following March, Yugi graduates. As soon as the class breaks formation he takes a running jump into Atem’s arms with his legs wrapped around his waist, kissing him within an inch of his life. They’re not the only couple doing so - not even the only same-sex couple - but Michiko is not surprised, only disappointed, when Tatsu and Chikage drop out of the book club that very week.

“Their loss,” says Kikyo firmly. “It’s about time I put a new note on the bulletin board anyway; we could do with some new recruits.”

“Fresh blood,” Reichiru intones with morbid relish.

Kikyo rolls her eyes. “You just had to make it creepy.”

Reichiru and Michiko linger afterwards like they always do.

“Thank you for still coming,” Michiko says. Kikyo is a good friend too, but not the kind Michiko can be... raw, around.

Reichiru snorts. “I wish I could join for the first time again, just to make a point. They’re good kids, and you’re a great mom.” She hesitates, then adds, “A great person.”

Michiko looks at her. Is that a hint of a blush she sees? “You - came to practice all through the winter, too. Even though it was boring dryland training.” Almost always in Michiko’s line of sight, it seemed, as they worked through Coach’s drills.

Now there’s definitely a blush. “I just… really want us to win this year?” Reichiru visibly steels herself and then says, “That’s not true. Well, it is, but not the whole truth. I really go for the company.”

Yugi spent years working on that puzzle Dad gave him - the one that vanished as if into a black hole, on the same Egypt trip they came back from with Atem in tow. Michiko hasn’t worked quite as long or hard on this puzzle, but she still gets the distinct feeling of pieces lining up and clicking together. She examines it in her mind for a moment, and finds that the decision is already made. She lays her hand flat on the table, bracing herself.

“I would be glad to have more of your company, outside of a group,” she says. “Maybe dinner before work tomorrow?”

Reichiru covers Michiko’s hand with her own. “I’d like that,” she says.


	2. Marik

Marik hums under his breath as he exits the bathroom. It’s good to be back in his family’s house, good to get in a proper workout again after the last few days of weirdness. He’s just headed for his room, towel around his waist, when a voice located somewhere near his shoulder blades says, “Excuse me-”

“Gyahhh!” Marik jumps about three feet in the air and lands facing behind him. “What the actual fuck?!” he spits at Atem, “How are you spookier now that you’re _not_ a ghost?”

The tiny (ex-)pharaoh looks abashed. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying not to wake anyone.”

“Trying not to- how long have you been up?”

He shrugs. “Since sunrise.”

“Shit, old man. You’re retired; relax a little.”

“Oh,” Atem leers, “I have been.”

“Gross. So what do you want?”

“Can you show me how you apply wet kohl?”

“Wet - you mean eyeliner?”

He nods firmly. “Yes, that. Yours is the closest to normal I’ve seen. Show me how you achieve it, please.”

Marik smiles in spite of himself. “That’s the first time I’ve had my makeup called ‘normal’. Okay, come on.” Atem follows him back to his room.

Marik shoves aside some compacts on his dresser so he can move his mirror until Atem can see what he’s doing. “I guess you would have had servants do this for you, huh?”

“Certainly not! I’m not a child!” Atem sounds affronted, then droops. “Only, the kind I’m used to is a powder applied with a brush, and now it seems to be all tubes and pencils.”

Marik blinks. “It just occurred to me some scholars would have sold their souls for a sample of the stuff you washed off in our houseboat bathroom.”

“They would have thought it was counterfeit, due to the carbon-14 date.”

“How do you know ‘carbon-14’ and not ‘eyeliner’?”

“Grandpa was an Egyptologist; he talks about his work to Yugi all the time.” Right, with Atem lurking in the back of Yugi’s head, or around his neck, or whatever. Marik is struck by the realization that Atem’s life has been even weirder than his.

He shakes that off and says briskly, “Well, loose powder kohl is still a thing in fancy enough cosmetics stores, and using brushes even with the other types, but for today I’ll just show you the liquid stuff.”

He goes slow, trying to verbalize the things he’s doing or avoiding that are all second nature by now. Atem watches closely.

“Okay, your turn.” Atem reaches for Marik’s tube of eyeliner, and Marik slaps his hand. “With _your own tube_ , genius! Here,” he reaches into his stash and grabs a fresh tube of basic black - he goes through enough that he always has a reserve. “Save yourself an eye infection and never share or borrow eye makeup.”

“Galena kohl prevents infection,” Atem protests, picking away the wrapping.

“By being a _lead salt,_ which you’re going to want to avoid now that you’ll probably live past thirty-five.” He looks curiously at Atem’s clean-shaven face. He’s so little - in an antique way that makes him seem smaller than Yugi, even though they’re technically the same size - and it makes his age hard to judge. “How old are you, anyway?”

Atem smiles crookedly as he finally unseals his new eyeliner. “There are several answers to that. Assuming I got my body back exactly as it was the day I died, it’s sixteen. But I think I at least ought to count the two years since Yugi freed me as pretty thoroughly lived, so I’ve asked to be listed as eighteen on the identification your sister is helping me acquire. And of course the grand total is something over five thousand.” He leans in to the mirror and essays his first stroke of liner. “Oh, it’s like creamy ink. This isn’t so bad.”

Marik’s still stuck on the first thing he said. “Fucking _sixteen.”_

Atem glances at him and frowns. “Yes.”

“All the time I was chasing my vengeance, I saw myself opposing the ghost of some bearded old sorcerer-king. It would have given me pause to know you were my own age.”

“You said it yourself: life was shorter then. Had everything not been falling to chaos for years, I would have been expected to have two or three children by sixteen.” He turns back to the mirror. “That’s one problem the end of the world spared me.”

“Children?”

“The getting of them. I am _very_ gay.” Atem grins at Marik’s bark of laughter, but doesn’t look away from the final flick of eyeliner. “Ha! First try!” He blinks, and his triumph turns to horror as black streaks smear onto his browbones. “Oh no!”

Marik hands him a cleaning swab. “You have to let it dry first, and then apply setting powder.”

“Thank you, Marik.” After dabbing away the mess, Atem looks around the room, clearly being careful not to widen his eyes while his liner dries. “Why do you have a photo of a storefront sign in your bedroom?”

“A what?” Marik follows Atem’s gaze. “You mean that tablet? Is that what it is? We translate artifacts for the Antiquities Council for some extra income, and Ishizu gave me this one to work on, but it’s tough because it’s so… old…” Just like Atem. “Oh man, what does it say?”

Atem clears his throat and recites, “Naham-s-rata’s delightful batons. May Isis, who crafted skilfully for Osiris and brought forth Horus, bless my creations to bring forth harmony and good humor.”

Marik squints as he searches his memory. “The main thing Isis made for Osiris was a gold strap-on after a fish ate his dick… holy shit. Holy shit, it’s a sign for an ancient dildo shop!”

Atem nods, his face bright red.

“This is the best day of my life,” Marik says fervently. “Can you write the translation down?” Atem does so as soon as his eyeliner sets, feet swinging from his perch in the chair at Marik’s desk, scribbling away with a pencil. Marik can convert the kanji into Arabic easily enough; stacking up linguistic masteries like cordwood was one of the only hobbies they were allowed underground.  

As he’s showing Atem out, he says, “Hey, do you have a cellphone yet?”

“No.”

“When you get one, put my number in it.” He hands Atem a scrap of paper. “Text me if you have more questions.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose-”

“I’m going to be asking for more translations. It’ll be like a trade.”

Atem nods. “Okay. Thank you again, Marik, for the offer and for the lesson.” He indicates his eyes, ringed in flourishes of black. “I feel much more like myself now.” He wanders off happily, five-foot-nothing of resurrected gay ex-royalty. This is who Marik has as a houseguest. This is Marik’s life.

* * *

**Every time I try to make falafel, it turns out yellow. What am I doing wrong?**

**what color is it supposed to be?**

**Sort of greenish?**

**ok, your problem is the thing you’re trying to make isn’t falafel from chickpeas. it’s ta’amiya from fava beans.**

**Are you kidding me? All this time!**

Marik smirks. Clearly there were some things Atem _did_ depend on servants for in the past.

**have you gotten a chance to look at that tribute plaque? something-something for King Narmer-Menes something something?**

**You mean the gift for Kings Narmer and Menes? The inscription cuts off but it looks like it was affixed to a statue.**

**...Kings plural?**

**Yes, of course. Their marriage sealed the unification of Upper and Lower Egypt.**

**WHAAAT?!**

Marik decides on the spot to absorb the fiendish expense of a transoceanic phone call. It’s worth it to yell in Atem’s ear, “Whaaaaaat?!”

“Hi Marik,” says Yugi in the background.

Atem sighs. “Am I to infer that this information was forgotten?”

“Yes, you are to _infer_ that! Holy shit! The stuffed shirts pretty much all agree they were one person!”

“Well, they weren’t.”

“Ishizu is going to have kittens. The Antiquities Council is going to have _hedgehogs._ Forget the dildo lady, _this_ is the best day of my life. Send me a word-for-word translation as soon as you can.”

* * *

**I can’t translate the latest thing you sent me. It’s gibberish in every dialect I know. It’s either too new, or a fake.**

**shit. pretty sure it’s not a fake, so now i have to do the heavy lifting myself.**

It turns into one of those weeks, and when Ishizu asks over dinner how his translation is coming, he has to say, “Uh, a little slower than usual.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Odd. You’ve been much faster with works much older lately.”

Marik crosses his fingers that that’s all she’s going to say, but she goes on to add, “You’ve been particularly quick with anything from the Archaic Period ever since Atem came back.”

He’s screwed. “How long have you known?”

“Since the Narmer _-and-_ Menes plaque, the repercussions of which are still entertaining me months later. I think we’re almost ready to release the plaque images to a non-Egyptian authority, who can publish on it without being censored - or killed.”

“I suppose saying the founding father of the nation had a husband would have repercussions, yes,” Marik says faintly.

“I’m thinking Arthur Hawkins. His focus now is the American Midwest, so he may not mind never setting foot in Egypt again. He would also be willing to help establish Atem as an anonymous source in his own right.”

“What?”

“A graduate of the Princes’ School lives and breathes in the third millennium AD. A lesser woman than myself would have kept him here and decanted him for years. Instead, I am going to make him a consultant. Float the rumor that he is another former Tombkeeper with a particular expertise in the Archaic Period, willing to translate for pay so long as he is only ever credited with a pseudonym.”

“You’re terrifying,” Marik tells her sincerely. He can’t even be mad that she’s stolen his golden goose; he’s too impressed.

She takes a delicate sip of hibiscus juice. “Why thank you, brother dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isis really did make Osiris a golden strap-on after his penis got eaten by a fish while he was dismembered, and it really did get her pregnant. Egyptian mythology is fucking wild. 
> 
> However, the ‘Narmer *and* Menes’ idea is pulled directly from my ass. Menes was almost certainly just the personal name of Narmer, aka King Angry Catfish, son of Scorpion II.


	3. Téa

Téa’s so tired she feels like she’s restarting her wheeled suitcase from a standstill with every step. Now she remembers why it took her four years to come back: forking over a wad of cash that would choke a horse for the dubious privilege of spending fourteen hours in the air is not, shall we say, high on her list of favorite things.

Not that there aren’t some other favorite things the experience earns her. Like the two ridiculous peaks of maroon hair just barely visible behind the shoulders of the crowd, as their two tiny bearers jostle their way to the front.

“Can you see her?”

“Yes, I see her! Téa Téa Téa! Over here!” Yugi rushes her and hugs her tight. Yugi gives fantastic hugs. She sags into his little frame with relief - not quite so little anymore.

“Yugi! Did you _grow?”_

“Yeah, I cranked out a late couple of inches! I’m all of five-two now!”

“You giant, you. Dancing keeps me stretched out to five-five,” she brags.

“Don’t get altitude sickness up there,” Atem grumbles, but he’s smiling.

“Atem only grew one extra inch,” Yugi stage-whispers, “but we still look the same size because of his sexy perfect posture.”

“Work what you’ve got,” Téa says firmly, and high-fives Atem. He holds onto her hand after, clasping it.

“It’s good to see you, Téa,” Atem says, and dammit, that deep, serious voice _still_ does things to her, maybe even worse now that it’s not coming from her childhood friend. Or maybe her resistance just wore off without constant exposure.

“It’s good to see you too,” she says, “I really missed you guys.” She blinks back sudden tears and swallows hard.

“So!” Yugi says brightly, “You said you wanted to stay in Domino for a few days before heading out to your folks in the country, right? Where to first?”

“Sleep,” groans Téa, “precious, wonderful sleep.”

“Our place still okay?”

“I can’t wait to see it. By ‘it’ I mean its sleeping surface.”

That sleeping surface turns out to be the only bed in the apartment. “I’m putting you guys out? I didn’t want to do that.”

“It’s cool; we’ve got mats.” That’s enough reassurance for her. She scrubs the grime off her face and the fuzz off her teeth, and crashes out before her head hits the pillow.

Sometime in the night, a creak of floorboards awakens her.

“Shhh! Don’t wake Téa!”

“Oops.” A pause, then, “I think it’s okay, other me.”

“Still, go slow.”

Yugi’s voice drops. “Oh, I’ll go slow.” A _flump!_ of shifting blankets, and then the slick sounds of kissing. Téa’s toes curl in mortification as she realizes the door is somehow ajar and she can hear everything. She should say something.

“Mm… mm… oh,” and she has never heard Atem so breathy, “you’re very persuasive. Ah!”

“You like that?” Yugi’s voice is… smug, but not in an annoying way - more richly pleased, both with himself and with Atem. “Does that feel good, my hand on you?”

She should really say something.

“Yesss, partner, it feels good. Please…”

“Please what?”

“Mmm, ah, hhah…”

“Please what? I wanna hear you say it. Quietly, remember.”

“Please, put your fingers in me. I need it.”

Even if she wasn’t frozen like a deer in headlights, she can’t say anything now. It’s gone too far. The less embarrassing option for everyone is to stay silent and take this to her grave.

Slurping noises. “Yeah, get them nice and wet. That’s really good. Are you ready?”

A pause. Atem must be giving him a Look.

“Alright, stupid question,” Yugi chuckles, “okay. Here we go.” They must kiss again, because Atem’s moan is muffled. But it’s still deep and shaky, the sound of someone being penetrated who _really_ wanted it.

If this keeps up her grave may be closer than she thinks. Téa can see them in her mind’s eye, entwined as they so often are, but bare-skinned, or maybe in skimpy sleep clothes for her sake but shoved out of the way. Atem clutching at Yugi, his legs spread out, Yugi’s hands busy down between them. Maybe rocking his own dick against Atem while he kisses him passionately, drinking up the sounds he’s wringing from Atem’s body. Téa bites her lip and reaches into her soaked panties to feel her swollen clit.

A wet smack of separation, and heavy breathing. Some of the breathing has a whining, desperate edge to it that has to be Atem’s.

“Yugi,” his voice is so _thick._ Téa holds her breath and goes rigid as she comes unexpectedly, pressing hard against her clit while she shakes. “Yugi, I’m close. Please, partner, I need more.”

“I’ll give it to you, other me.” Yugi’s starting to sound more urgent, a soft slapping that must be his hand on Atem’s cock becoming audible as he speeds up. “Give you whatever you need, I promise.”

“More - inside me. Hurry - ahh-ha-ahh-ah!” Atem’s shuddering moan makes Téa clench again on another burst of heat.

“Not as much slick as I’d like but needs must,” Yugi mutters. “Fucking look at you, oh my god, Atem. Is this doing it for you right now? This burn and drag?” His voice is hot and eager. “Atem, your _face.”_

Téa can imagine his face, those sharp eyes wide and soft, mouth open, looking up at Yugi with total trust - a more open version of the way he looks at Yugi basically all the time. It makes her open her own mouth wide to keep her breath from hissing as she rides out another wave of orgasm, massaging her clit almost soothingly now, just trying to get through this.

“Deep,” says Atem, a wet gasp, “go deep, and kiss me again.”

And it makes her understand something, like a thunderclap: why she’s always wanted Atem, not Yugi, for all that Yugi is one of her oldest and dearest friends. It’s because she and Yugi are two of a kind, having the same thing to offer and therefore incompatible, like two same poles of magnets. Atem is an opposite pole, and she’d wanted what he could be - _is,_ to Yugi, magnificence surrendered for a moment into devoted keeping.

Atem comes with another long noise muffled by Yugi’s mouth, and then there is another shifting sound and an even faster slapping than before.

“M’gonna come,” Yugi mutters, “all over you, see it on your skin, smell it on you, _fuck.”_

“Yes, partner,” Atem says dreamily, “mark me.”

 _“Fu-uu-uck!”_ It’s a hissed, voiceless shout, an obvious attempt to be considerate of Téa’s supposed sleep, and she is oddly touched that her friend would try so hard to avoid waking her, even in extremis. In her post-orgasm lassitude she aches with affection for them both.

They’re moving around, murmuring quietly to each other, but Téa’s too sleepy to listen anymore. She drifts off to the warming thought that, when she’s ready, she knows lots of people with dancer’s posture who might be encouraged to kneel at her feet.

* * *

“Good morning, Téa!” Yugi chirps. “How did you sleep?”

Téa can dance _en pointe_ with a smile; she can bloody well cover for last night. She stretches luxuriously and grins. “Like a log. It was so great. Thanks, guys. Did you have a fun campout in the living room?”

Yugi smiles crookedly and doesn’t blush at all. “At least it’s good practice for crashing tonight at Joey’s.”

“I’m so excited to attend a games night in person instead of trying to keep a Skype call connected long enough to say hi to everyone. I’ll finally get to see what I’ve been missing.” Téa scoops up some egg and rice.

Yugi laughs. “It’s pretty much exactly like our old Duel Monsters sessions in school, but with different games and alcohol.”

She pours herself some coffee. “Complete with Kaiba lurking but not playing?”

“Oh, he plays,” Atem puts in. “That’s one of the reasons we rarely play Duel Monsters anymore. Mokuba has carried him bodily off the premises two of the last four times he suggested it.”

 _“What?”_ She almost drops her bowl and mug.

“Yeah,” says Yugi, “that’s one of the things that maybe didn’t show up on that little Skype screen. Mokuba got _jacked.”_

Atem says, “He’s grown quite tall, and has decided - rather cleverly I think - that the best anti-kidnapping measure he can take is to gain muscle until he’s too strong and heavy for any four lesser men to take on easily.”

“He even dresses like a bodyguard now when he goes out in public by himself.” Yugi smirks. “Kaiba gets this amazing line between his eyebrows whenever he remembers - the same one he gets whenever Joey wins a tournament.”

“Well,” says Téa, “this I gotta see. I can’t wait until tonight. What are your plans until then?”

Yugi looks at the clock and cringes. “Trying not to get fired from my bottom-rung position at work for being late.” He grabs his bag and goes to put on his shoes.  

“You are not on the bottom rung,” Atem argues, “you graduated top of your class.”

“Still.” He gives Atem a quick kiss, and Téa a quick hug. “Have fun today. See you at Joey’s tonight.” He rushes out the door.

Téa looks at Atem. “Has he forgotten his birthday?”

“No, but he thinks all we’re doing is having a nice dinner with Grandpa and Michiko tomorrow. Somehow the surprise party tonight has stayed a surprise.”

“What are _you_ going to do today?”

“I don’t have any translation projects at the moment, so my only agenda item is going and getting Yugi’s gift.”

“You left it until today?”

“It has to be today if it’s going to be a surprise tonight. And, well, if you’re not busy,” Atem looks suddenly shy, “I’d like to have a friend come with me.”

“Of course!”

* * *

She was expecting clothes shopping, or maybe a makeover. She was not expecting a tattoo and piercing parlour.

“Atem, for the eleven o’clock with Honomie?” Atem says to the receptionist at the front counter. The place smells like a dentist’s office, but there are photos of inked skin and metal-festooned body parts all over the walls, and locked cases of paraphernalia laid out like items in a jewelry store. Which, she supposes, it kind of is.

“Atem, honey! There you are!” Honomie turns out to be a woman nearly as tall as Kaiba, with a voice deeper than Atem’s. Her bare, muscular arms are tattooed every color of the rainbow, and she has piercings in her eyebrow, nose, lip, and all over her ears.

She looks so much like some of Téa’s New Yorker friends that she feels abruptly homesick.

“Come on back this way.”

Shut in a private workroom, Honomie asks, “Who’s this with you today?” while she sanitises her hands.

“My friend, Téa.”

“Good stuff. I’m always happier when a client has a buddy after; you never know when someone might get woozy.” She drapes a sterile field onto her little wheeled table and starts unwrapping sterile supplies to fall onto it. “But you still want your new jewelry to be a surprise for your boyfriend? What’s his name again?”

“Yugi. And yes. After he fainted when I got my ears done,” and yes, Atem does have two more studs in each ear than he did when Téa left, “I think it’ll be a nicer present if I just go ahead and let him skip to the fun part.”

Honomie fixes him with a stern look. “You remember what we talked about during the consult, right? Nipple piercings don’t get to the fun part for nine to twelve months. Do you still have your pamphlet about cleaning them with saline?”

Atem pulls a creased pamphlet from his bag and waves it at her. “Don’t worry,” he says drily, “that much cleaning _will_ be the fun part, for him.”

“God fucking bless service tops,” Honomie says warmly. “Okay sweetie, let’s make those nips sparkle.” She has Atem remove his shirt - a thick black cotton muscle tee - and lay back in the reclining chair.

“There’s room on the other side to hold your friend’s hand if you want, Téa,” she says as she disinfects Atem’s chest. She turns away to put on a surgical mask, sanitize her hands again, and put on a pair of sterile gloves. She turns back holding some ominous steel instruments, and abruptly Téa has to grab _Atem’s_ hand and look away.

It’s over amazingly quickly. Atem barely grunts both times, although he squeezes her hand pretty hard. In less than two minutes both his nipples are sporting extra-long straight barbells made of titanium. Honomie tapes a gauze square over each one.

“Come back to me if you have any problems, of course, and especially before you try to upgrade to anything shorter or with a different shape, okay? Gotta make sure everything is healed before you start _really_ dressing them up.”

“I will,” Atem promises, pulling his shirt back on with exaggerated care.

“And wish that boy of yours a happy birthday for me!”

They leave the shop, and Atem says, “I need to stop by a drugstore and get some saline." 

"For tonight?"

“Yes.” Atem's blush is faint under his dark skin tone, but still visible.

“I don’t have a gift for Yugi,” she realizes.

Atem looks surprised. “Of course you do. You’re here.”


	4. Tristan

“SURPRISE!”

“Holy shit!” Yugi yells, and drops his bag of chips. Tristan discreetly rescues it from being trampled in the rush to hug Yugi, and treats himself to a few fistfuls as he delivers it to the snack table.

It’s not really a full-blown kid-style birthday, although there is cake. Atem is the only one to give Yugi a gift. Yugi peeks inside the gift bag, stares at Atem with a stunned expression that morphs into a wolfish grin, and drags Atem upstairs without a word.

Téa explains, “Atem had an appointment at Domino Needle today.”

Tristan grins. “Nice, if he went back he must have liked my recommendation! With Honomie?”

Téa nods. “I haven’t sat with someone for something like that before, but it seemed like she did a really good job.”

“Sat with someone for somethin’ like what?” Joey demands. “Did Atem make you watch him get his junk pierced?”

“Oh my god, no, just his nipples!”

“Okay, good.”

Tristan explains, “Atem’s very… body-confident.”

“We hadta change the rules for strip poker because otherwise he leads with his pants for an intimidation bonus.”

Téa wrinkles her nose. “You play strip poker with your sister?”

“No!” laughs Serenity. “I just skip out on the sausage party a lot of the time.”

“Oh? Where do you go?”

“Well, Joey bought us this amazing house so close to the beach, so I figured it would be a waste not to find a group that goes out on the water somehow. And I found this great sailing club that has night sessions sometimes!”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“It is,” Joey grumps. Serenity punches him in the shoulder.

“It is not! We’re always really safe. I could show you my crew’s boat if you wanted! The marina’s just a few minutes’ walk away.”

Téa smiles. “I’d like that. Maybe after Yugi comes back and we cut the cake?”

“Speak of the devil!” says Joey. Yugi and Atem descend the stairs with as much dignity as they can muster.

“I love my present,” Yugi announces, “and I love my boyfriend.”

 _“We know,”_ everyone choruses. Yugi has the decency to blush, but Atem just hugs Yugi from behind - a step above him on the staircase, and leaning forward carefully to avoid putting any pressure on his chest - and props his chin on Yugi’s shoulder.

“I smell smoke,” he says, “is someone barbecuing?”

“Me!” shouts Mokuba from outside.

“Oh, good,” says Atem, “there’ll be lots then.”

“Don’t count on it! I’m bulking again!”

“I wasn’t aware you’d stopped,” Kaiba calls back with a look of mild horror on his face.

“We can’t all live on caffeine and spite, big brother! Come get a burger!”

“Ooh, burgers!” Yugi moves into the kitchen with Atem in tow, prompting a general exodus through there onto the patio.

The grill is covered in juicy, char-striped burgers, but the crowd clears it rapidly.

“Locusts! You people have no respect for my gains,” Mokuba gripes, then opens the huge tupperware at his feet and covers the grill with patties all over again.

“Wheymen, swolebrother,” Tristan affirms. “Are we still on to pray at the Iron Temple tomorrow?”

Mokuba grins at Tristan. “Brodin willing. May the Allspotter bless our reps.”

Kaiba puts down his burger and closes his eyes, making a sound like Tristan and Mokuba’s gym-bro jokes bring him physical pain. Tristan loves that sound, and of course as Kaiba’s brother it brings Mokuba an almost-spiritual joy.

Mokuba and Tristan claim most of the second batch of burgers, and settle down to the serious task of putting them away. Tristan’s just in maintenance right now, so he could afford buns, but in solidarity with his gym buddy he eats his burgers wrapped in lettuce. Add sauce, wrap, scarf down, repeat; it’s almost mechanical.

“I don’t know whether to be amazed or grossed-out,” says Téa.

Tristan finishes a burger and starts preparing another one. “You are what you eat.”

“Do the meat mountains want to be part cake?”

“I’ve been saving macros all day for cake,” says Mokuba.

 _“This_ is what you micromanage,” Kaiba says in disgust. “How are we related?”

“Screw you,” Mokuba drawls. “I’m also gonna be a forensic accountant. Drag all the little termites out of their hidey-holes in our company, nail ‘em to the ground and watch ‘em shrivel in the sun.” He all but tears a burger in half with his teeth.

 _“Now_ you sound like a Kaiba,” says Joey.

Tristan asked Mokuba once, in between sets of deadlifts, if he remembers being soulless. (The feel of him, such a horribly small, limp weight to lug around Pegasus’ castle, still gives Tristan nightmares sometimes. It’s why he’s been so supportive of Mokuba’s push to get huge.) He’d said no, but Tristan wonders if, on some level, he remembers after all; Kaiba’s drive to be an unstoppable force pales next to Mokuba’s drive to be an immovable object. The kid’s enemies are going to break on him like water by the time he’s done.  

The group decimates the cake, while Kaiba sidles up to his brother and says something in an undertone. Mokuba nods at him, and they head outside for a moment, coming back with a large, flat box. Kaiba raises his voice.

“We actually brought a gift today too, but it’s for everyone.” He nods to Mokuba, who opens the box to reveal something that vaguely resembles a set of duel disks. “These are beta versions of the latest duel disk model. Before we can use them I need you all to sign these waivers in my-” Mokuba claps a meaty paw over Kaiba’s mouth.

“It makes the current version look like Pegasus’ arenas - the way they look _today,_ all rusted-out and crappy,” he says. “We’re really proud of it. Happy birthday, Yugi. Let’s go make holographic monsters beat the shit out of each other.”

“That sounds like fun,” Yugi says, “but I think Atem’s going to want to break out the henna first.”

Atem folds his arms at the chorus of groans. “The Shadow Games may be over, but I’m taking no chances. Now that I remember, I won’t let anyone play unprotected.”

“Fine by me,” says Tristan, “your tattoos are badass, and make us look like the freakiest gang in town. Let’s get painting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say people's lives are touched in ways big and small. Tristan would be ways small.


	5. Joey

When Joey finally takes stock of his various tournament winnings, the first thing he does is buy a house near the beach. The second thing he does is invite Serenity to move into it with him. The third thing he does is throw a housewarming party, and the first guest to come through is Atem, armed with inkpot, brush, and a fistful of foil cones full of henna paste. 

“Moving into a new permanent residence is a major event,” he says, and with Joey’s bemused permission paints discreet rows of hieroglyphics over every door and window in the place, then unique sigils in henna on the skin of every guest present. 

“These look nothing like mehndi,” Serenity says, peering at her forearm. Joey’s been to a couple of Indian weddings himself, and seen the lacy designs on the bride and female guests. She’s right; these are totally different, thick-lined and minimalist. 

“These aren’t decoration,” Atem explains, “they’re invocation.” He traces the design he gave her. “This is your name, and this is the name of Hathor, protector of eyes. When Téa left for New York I painted her with the name of Ptah, protector of feet. Tristan’s invokes the Lords of Kheraha, for the muscles and tendons, and so does Mokuba’s since he has begun weight-training with Tristan.”

Joey asks, “What would you paint Kaiba with if he were here and let you?”

Atem smirks. “Probably Imsety, protector of the liver, to balance his choleric temper.” He sobers. “Or Seth, for protection from backstabbers.” 

Serenity quickly asks, “Who did you invoke for Joey?”

Atem’s eyes soften. “The Ram, the Lord of Mendes, for his arms and hands, because he intends to be a healer of souls.” 

“Helluva flowery thing to call an addictions counselor; besides, first I have to pass my coursework,” Joey mutters, embarrassed. He changes the subject. “What did you paint on Yugi?” 

Atem grins and opens his mouth just as Yugi walks up and says, “Don’t answer that. Here, I brought you and Joey some of that beer you like,” and hands them each a bottle. “Atem, I’m about to start frying the ta’amiya - do you want to give it a final check?”

“Definitely.” Atem jumps to his feet and heads into the kitchen with Yugi. 

“He’s been trying on and off to recreate some kinda fried bean balls from his past ever since he got brought back to life,” Joey explains to his sister. 

“You mean like falafel?”

“That’s what everyone said, and I think it threw him off. Here’s hoping he’s finally on the right track with the different name.” Joey toasts his own suggestion with a swig of beer; he’s getting heartily sick of fried bean balls, no matter what their name is or how golden and crunchy their outsides are. 

“I gotta say, I’m a little surprised to see you drinking, after, you know…”

“After Dad?” Joey says bluntly. Serenity flinches but nods. He holds out his beer. “Taste it.” 

She tries a sip, and startles. “That’s not beer! What is that?”

“That, kiddo, is the  _ original  _ beer. Or something like it, close enough to make Atem happy. Some kinda history nerd group here brews it.”

“Huh.” She takes another sip. “Is that honey in there? And dates? It’s interesting.” 

“Not bad, right? And the alcohol content is really low, since it’s the kinda thing everybody drank 24/7 when untreated water could make you shit yourself to death.”

“Gross.” 

“Atem weighs as much as a hamster soakin’ wet, and started learning to pace himself as, like, a toddler. So if I stick to this and drink slower than him, I figure I’m pretty safe.” He takes back his bottle for another swig, and says flatly, “I don’t drink whiskey. Ever. And you can do what you want, but don’t get mad if I take off for a while if I smell it on you.”

She leans her shoulder into his. “Not a problem. I can’t stand the smell either.” 

“Uh, Joey?” Yugi’s voice in the kitchen sounds strained. “You wouldn’t happen to have paper towels, would you?” 

Joey jumps up. “You two clowns better not be gettin’ grease stains in my new kitchen!” 

* * *

The henna designs Atem paints on everyone at Yugi’s twenty-second birthday are much more cursory than back when Joey and Serenity first moved in, mostly just Eyes of Horus. He moves so briskly that even Kaiba puts up with being drawn on, though not without complaint:

“Couldn’t you just use a Sharpie or something?” 

“In a pinch I would, but I can’t sense magic anymore, so I don’t know if the herb itself is a component. Better safe than sorry.” Atem finishes squeezing the last line of greenish-black paste onto his own arm; the red-brown left behind will just barely show up on him. “It should be dry by the time we walk down to the beach. I assume that’s where we’ll duel?” 

“Yeah,” says Joey, “don’t wanna frighten the neighbors again by duelin’ in the backyard.” 

“The new system allows for miniaturization,” Kaiba admits, “but the first demonstration should really be at full power.” 

To an outsider, they look like any group of young adults taking an evening walk down the streets and winding stairs to the beach. You have to know them to know what a pack of weirdos they are, shaped by all the shit they’ve been through until they can only really talk to each other. Even Kaiba, for all his sneering and voguing,  _ keeps showing up.  _

With the beach blankets laid out, and the cooler of drinks opened up, Joey asks, “How do we wanna do this? It gets pretty chilly after dark so we probably only have time for a coupla rounds.” 

“Duos!” Yugi cheers. “Me and Atem, Kaibas, Wheelers, and - Téa and Tristan? Would you be okay teaming up?” 

Téa says, “I’m fine with that,  _ if _ we get to go first against Joey and Serenity. I want to see Serenity’s boat after.” 

“It’s not  _ my  _ boat,” Serenity insists, “it’s the club’s, on loan to my crew.” 

“Still. C’mon, Tristan, let’s kick their butts so we can go do that.” 

“Oh,” says Serenity, “I think  _ your  _ butts are in for the kicking!” 

The pairs aren’t super evenly matched. Téa hasn’t touched a Duel Monsters card in four years. Tristan and Serenity only play on game nights. Meanwhile, Joey has more tournament wins to his name than everyone else on this beach combined. On the other hand, he has at least twice that many losses, and a deck packed with gamble cards. He can just play heavily to those and have fun checking out the game’s makeover. 

The Kaibas weren’t kidding; the new projections look even more real than before. Joey and Tristan both use way more tributes and fusions than they normally would, just to see more of the models, a glittering rainbow of shapes towering against the beach cliffs. 

Joey’s not exactly being ruthless when the gamble cards tip in his favor, so eventually the times they don’t catch up with him. Time Wizard’s spinner lands on a skull and the game ends in an explosion of sparks that has Kaiba making worried noises over his prototypes. 

“Ha! Victory is mine!” Téa crows. She and Serenity stroll off toward the marina. 

“My deck,  _ my _ strategies, and yet somehow  _ Téa  _ leaves with my crush for half of high school,” Tristan laments. 

“Augh, I can’t know that!” 

“Relax, like you didn’t know already.” Tristan pulls a drink from the cooler and sprawls out on the beach blanket. “Besides, now I got my eye on this Amazon at the gym. She could probably break me in half,” he sighs worshipfully. 

Mokuba snorts. “No probably about it. You look more like a twink than I do.”

This surprises a rusty bark of laughter out of Kaiba. 

Tristan clutches his bottle to his heart. “You’ve cut me to the quick! Pharaoh! Avenge my honor!” 

“Not a pharaoh anymore,” Atem says absently, not even looking up from the cards he and Yugi have spread out in front of them. 

“Besides,” Yugi chimes in, “there’s nothing wrong with being a twink.” 

Joey is close enough to hear Atem lower his voice and ask, “What is a twink?” He can’t make out the response Yugi murmurs directly into his ear, but he can see Atem shiver when Yugi nips at it after. 

“Are you two canoodlin’ or comin’ up with a gameplan?” 

They look at each other and say in unison, “Yes.” 

“Your gameplan better top that travesty Wheeler made us sit through.” 

“Can it, Kaiba,” Joey says easily. “The circuit paid for my house and put me through college; I got nothin’ to prove. I’ll softball my friends on the beach if I want.” 

“And don’t worry, Kaiba,” Atem assures him, “we know better than to go easy on you!” 


	6. Seto

“We know better to go easy on you!”

Yugi and Atem _don’t_ go easy on Seto, thank fucking God. The amount of bullshit he has to put up with to get a decent duel these days is obscene; it better be goddamn worth all the time he wastes _socializing._

But he’s finally here, getting to face off with both his greatest rivals at the same time. Even Mokuba’s mountainous presence (Seto approves, secretly, of Operation Get Too Huge To Kidnap, but he’ll probably be an old man before he gets _used_ to it) at his side feels good. Actually, it’s more than good; it’s needed. The stats and probabilities Seto has to painstakingly memorize flow through Mokuba as effortlessly as breathing, and more importantly, he just doesn’t _care_ about Duel Monsters as much as Seto does, which means he stays considerably calmer. His advice is the only thing helping Seto keep up with the dizzying combination of Atem’s and Yugi’s playstyles.

Atem is familiar, Yugi’s frontman for years. His intense theatricality during a match is as mesmerizing as ever; Seto has a Pavlovian response to it by now. Atem loves surprises and sneak attacks, bluffs and double bluffs and triple bluffs. Playing him is exciting. Yugi is much less flashy as an opponent, but ever since he and Atem became two separate beings, it’s obvious that every tactic that truly, _truly_ came out of nowhere to ruin Seto’s day has always been his idea. Playing him is maddeningly elusive, like trying to capture a will-o-the-wisp. He’s demonstrably a better player than Atem, and both of them are admittedly better players than Seto, and he never knows himself as well as when he has them to measure himself against.

And this is all still true tonight, even if their only audience is Tristan and Wheeler. Tristan cheers on his ‘swolebro’. His bond with Mokuba is horrible, inexplicable, in large part responsible for the mansion’s kitchen looking like a butcher shop with a sideline in vegetables. Seto would tear up a Blue Eyes White Dragon card before he would admit to being anything more than dumbfounded and appalled by their friendship (he is both, but also profoundly grateful). Wheeler, the whore, having made a part-time career out of entering every tournament he could get to with a cash prize all through college, shouts not just encouragement to Seto’s opponents, but bona fide good advice. He’s - Seto shudders to even think it - a _seasoned professional_. It might as well be three people on the opposing team.

In short, it’s the toughest match Seto could hope to fight anywhere on the planet, everything he could ask for in a challenge. With the new system, his beautiful dragons are as perfect and majestic as he can get them without somehow making his way to the Monster Realm where, apparently, the real thing lives and breathes. Even when Atem and Yugi finally outmaneuver and defeat him and Mokuba, he feels more sated than devastated.

“Good match,” he says, “don’t take so long next time to let me try again.”

Yugi’s eyes widen in surprise at this comparative graciousness, but is polite himself in return. “You too! And you’re right, it _has_ been too long. We should try out that miniaturization function at a house party sometime.” Atem gives Seto one of his serious little smiles and says something similar; Seto isn’t really paying attention.

Because for all that it’s _good,_ there’s something missing. Duelling used to be his favorite activity in the _world,_ going head-to-head with Yugi (or Atem-as-Yugi) the most genuine connection he made with anyone who wasn’t Mokuba. And it’s still _fun,_ but that’s… _all_ it is. There’s something missing, and he doesn’t know what it is. He probes its absence like he would tongue a missing tooth, puzzling over it through packing up their little beach party in the swiftly-chilling dark, and gathering up Serenity and Téa from the docks where they were admiring Serenity’s sailboat.

“I just couldn’t watch,” Téa admits, “the last times you guys played when I was here were all way too emotional for me!”

Atem chuckles. “We’re not kids anymore, and it’s just a game now, not something one places one foot in the Shadow Realm just by picking it up. The drama level is considerably lower.”

Could that be it? The magic is gone because _the magic is literally gone_ , compounded by just plain growing up? Even Atem himself is altered now, a mortal meatbag like the rest of them instead of a shadowy entity seething with eldritch powers. (Seto would think it a severe downgrade, had he not had the value of bodily autonomy demonstrated to him in terrifying detail.) Could Seto be responding subconsciously to a lack of metaphysical danger? As if all this time he was playing suspended over a shark tank, and only knows it now that the shark tank has been removed.

Unpleasant thought, but it has the ring of truth. And it suggests a solution: he just needs to find himself a new shark tank.

* * *

The party drags on for hours, games and drinking and pockets of conversation. It’s like a less odious version of schmoozing with investors; he doesn’t actually despise these people, and Mokuba genuinely likes them. It’s not hard to insinuate himself into a hand of poker here, a MarioKart race there, discussions about construction projects in the Domino business district or the new game titles up for release soon. (He _will_ headhunt Yugi eventually, after he’s gotten his seasoning at someone else’s expense and maybe some insider information on Seto’s competitors. Although, Yugi is nothing if not loyal. If Seto misjudges his moment, he’ll have to buyout the whole company instead.)

Wheeler’s house has only two bedrooms, but the common areas have abundant sectional couches and the like, and people start to nod off where they sit. Wheeler and his sister retreat to their rooms upstairs, and eventually the only people left awake are Seto and Mokuba.

Seto finds himself staring across the room at Yugi and Atem. They’re so tiny, and have so little personal space with each other, that they’ve fallen asleep together in a single recliner. Atem is seated between Yugi’s spread legs, back to Yugi’s chest, head against Yugi’s shoulder. Yugi has one hand on Atem’s belly under his shirt, like he fell asleep with his hand on Atem’s chest and it drifted down. Seto looks at them and aches with a bizarre hunger.

“Are you jealous?” Mokuba asks him, following his line of sight.

“What do you mean?” Whispering at night feels like they’re kids again, with no room for defensiveness.

“Do you want what they have?”

He looks at them and thinks about it. There’s a blatant carnal intent in so many of their looks and touches. It’s unseemly to observe, and when Seto tries to picture himself in such a dynamic he feels like he might throw up. And the emotional component is even worse; Seto feels strangled by the very idea of being so enmeshed with another person, dividing his loyalty to Mokuba, further reducing the time he already has to scrounge to spend with him. There is no part of him that wants any part of that. And yet there’s something about their peaceful closeness that draws his gaze.

Finally he says, “Not… most of it. It’s hard to explain.”

“It’s the touching, isn’t it?”

He turns to look at Mokuba. “What?”

Mokuba’s eyes are kind. “I’ve known you my whole life, big brother. I’ve never once seen you act like you want another person, for sex or romance. Am I wrong?”  

The shroud of nighttime and solitude wrap around them like a confessional. Only truth can survive between them. “You’re not wrong,” Seto admits. “I’m too much of a freak to even wish I was different.”

“You’re a freak, Seto, but not for that.” Mokuba settles a heavy arm around Seto’s shoulders and reels him in to lean against his ridiculous meat-wall of a chest. Seto shudders as some tension he wasn’t even aware of carrying cracks like an egg. Cautiously, Mokuba strokes his hair and the back of his neck, and Seto has to stifle an involuntary noise.

“Why am I a freak, then?”

“I’m venturing into the realm of conjecture, here, but I have a theory. I theorize that the last shred of possibility you would ever seek to date anyone died the day you learned the Blue Eyes White Dragon is real somewhere.” There’s no scorn or pity in Mokuba’s voice, just calm knowledge. His free hand drifts to Seto’s trapezius muscles, his throat, parts he covers at all times because they always feel cold and vulnerable. Seto tries and fails to stop himself from pushing into the touch like a cat.

“It’s true,” spills out of him unbidden, “she’s _out there._ I felt like I was hers before I knew, and now that I do know… it’s hopeless. In so many ways. But it’s true.” Mokuba is warm and solid where he holds Seto up, the first of the only two things Seto has ever loved, and so _strong_ now. Strong enough to bear the confirmation of Seto’s brokenness, the already-guessed identity of his second love.

“After all the bonkers shit we’ve seen, I wouldn’t say it’s _completely_ hopeless.” Mokuba moves on to Seto’s shoulders, the knot between his shoulderblades. “But I’m losing track of my argument here,” he yawns. “Joey says babies who don’t get touched enough literally die.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“No, you’re a full-grown grumpy giraffe. But I have a theory you’d be a tiny bit less grumpy if you got hugged more, so I’m making an executive decision.”

“I’m the _Chief Executive Officer-”_ Seto starts to get up, but Mokuba’s arm tightens, becoming as unyielding as a steel restraint bar on a carnival ride.

“Not of this couch. Tell me to stop and I will.” Every slow pass of his hand loosens more of Seto’s muscles, soothing the jagged restlessness inside him that this evening’s duel failed to reach.

His last protest is the most feeble, but also the most sincere. “You shouldn’t do this. _I_ take care of _you,_ not the other way around.”

“That’s stupid, Seto. I’ve been taking care of you too for way longer than this. Exhibit A: how you have not yet died of either starvation or amphetamine overdose.” He traces the bumps of Seto’s spine. “Go to sleep, big brother.”

Maybe it’s just the sudden glut of touch, but Seto finds himself obeying the suggestion despite himself. “We will have words regarding how you knew about the amphetamines,” he mumbles.

“Sure we will. Later.”

It’s all so dumb and ridiculous: the little house, the abject nerds snoring all over it, Mokuba’s sappy ultimatums. But Seto is falling asleep all the same, so maybe he’s dumb and ridiculous too.

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](https://toffeecape.tumblr.com) is an uncurated mess, but I love to talk with people :-)


End file.
